


Leavin' on a Jet Plane

by roseforthethorns, timetospy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: But for some reason hid it from James, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Q plays guitar, Return from Mission, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9450452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/pseuds/timetospy
Summary: James returns from a mission gone wrong and discovers something about Q.





	

**Author's Note:**

> With full apologies to[ John Denver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SneCkM0bJq0) and[ Peter Paul and Mary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qc-7SnMnX78) for abusing this song for our own purposes. The lyrics have been altered a bit to fit the story.
> 
> [Ben Whishaw singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE6udeFyCpA), for those who haven't heard. Freely admit that this is what spurred the fic into being.
> 
> All other contents (and mistakes) are our own. Thank you for reading!

James steps quietly up to the front door of the flat he shares with Q. It had been a hard mission, made harder by the fact that it was his first since he and Q had become ‘official’ as Eve liked to put it. There had been a few close calls, one so close that Eve had been obliged to remove Q from the mission feed altogether, and after that James had lost his earwig, so nobody had known where he was until about six hours ago when he’d finally gotten to a secure location and called in for an extraction.

The flight had been blissfully boring, and he’s looking forward to coming home - which is an incredibly odd sensation. The word still sticks unfamiliarly in his throat, but he knows of no other that will name the place he and Q share - with two cats, as Q so often reminds him.

He eases open the door, not wanting to wake Q if he’s asleep. It’s stupid o’clock in the morning, and he’s already been past Six only to be told Q was sent home twenty-four hours ago. As he steps into their flat, he’s greeted to the sound of soft guitar strumming, plucking, tuning. The cats are absent, probably curled around each other on the sofa, sound asleep.

He toes off his shoes and pads towards the sitting room. Q sits on the coffee table with his back towards the door, strumming aimlessly, then twisting a knob at the top of the guitar across his knees.

Q played guitar? Why didn’t James know that?

Before James can announce his presence, Q strums with purpose, then in a high ethereal tenor begins to sing.

 

"All your bags are packed   
You're ready to go   
You're standing here outside my door   
You hate to wake me up to say goodbye   
But the dawn is breakin'   
It's early morn   
Tanner's waiting   
He's blowing his horn   
Already I'm so lonesome   
I could die.”

  
“So I’ll kiss you and smile for you   
Promise that I'll wait for you   
Please hold me like you'll never let me go   
Cause you're leavin' on a jet plane   
Don’t know if you’ll come home again

I hate it when you go.”

 

James’ heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the words, so obviously about him, the melody haunting his bones as it echoes in the flat.

 

"There's so many times you’ve been knocked down   
So many times you've played around   
I tell you now they don't mean a thing   
Every place I go I think of you   
Every song I sing I'll sing for you   
I want you home, oh, I’d give anything!"

 

The burning behind his eyes threatens to spill over. He feels like a voyeur, watching as Q pours his heart into the words, like a prayer, a plea, desperate and aching and raw, his voice creaking on the last line.

 

“So I’ll kiss you and smile for you   
Promise that I'll wait for you   
Please hold me like you'll never let me go   
Cause you're leavin' on a jet plane   
Don’t know when you’ll come home again   
I hate it when you go.”

 

"Now the time has come for you to leave me   
One more time   
Let me kiss you   
I'll close my eyes   
And you'll be on your way   
I dream about the days to come   
When you won't have to leave at all   
About the times you’ll be back to stay."

 

The tears he’d kept in check spill down his cheeks. He wipes them angrily away. They both know the dangers of this job, they know the risks, but watching Q break open in front of him isn’t something he’s prepared to face.

Q’s voice breaks dangerously, but he continues on, resolutely finishing the final chorus. 

 

“So I’ll kiss you and smile for you   
Promise that I'll wait for you   
Please hold me like you'll never let me go   
Cause you're leavin' on a jet plane   
Don’t know when you’ll come home again   
I hate it when you go.”

 

Cause you're leaving--”

 

Q’s voice finally gives out, and he sniffs, crumpling over his guitar. James is beside him in a moment, bundling him close, pressing Q’s tear-stained face to his chest, his own tears lost in Q’s hair as he presses kisses into the top of his head. 

“I’m home,” he whispers. “I’m home now.”

Q clings to his lapels, face still buried in James’ chest.

“Dammit, you could have  _ died _ ,” Q says, anger and relief and confusion swirling in his words.

“Not this time.”

James picks Q up, guitar and all, despite his weariness, and begins shuffling toward the bedroom.

“I don’t--” Q begins, but stops, at a loss for actual words.

“I’m sorry,” James says. 

“It’s the job. I know the risks. I see them every day. I should be better at leaving this,” he gestures vaguely with one hand at James’ face, “at home.”

“As should I. The only thing I cared about once everything went tits up was to come back here to you. And I should have attempted to complete the mission instead. You’ve turned me into a lousy spy, darling.”

“Somehow I think I ought to feel bad about that, but I find I really don’t.” There’s a nearly invisible smile at the very edge of Q’s lips, and James desperately wants to kiss it, so he does. 

“I may have become unfit for duty,” James says as he sets Q down on the bed and Q lays his guitar on the floor beside him. “I’ve been compromised by a pair of gorgeous green eyes.” James pulls Q’s glasses off and sets them gently on the bedside table.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Q says. The ache has gone from his voice, but his eyes are still red and raw from holding back the tears. James can feel the puffiness around his own eyes and knows he looks the same.

“I was rather hoping it would.”

He covers Q’s mouth with his, grounding himself in the sensation of it. They spend a very, very long time reacquainting themselves with each other, assuring each other that they are safe and whole, re-learning kiss and touch, breath and heartbeat.

Tomorrow, they can speak of unspeakable things. Tomorrow they can discuss what they will do going forward. But for now, in this moment, the only thing that matters is the drag of fingertips across flushed skin and the refrain pounding in both their hearts: home, I’m home, you’re home.


End file.
